The Commodore's Redemption
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Almost underhandedly, James finally wins Elizabeth's hand in marriage. In a battle of wills, the Commodore finds a frighteningly worthy opponent. But love can be found in the most unexpected of circumstances. James/Eliz/Jack
1. Chapter 1

**The Commodore's Redemption**

**By Sleepy Lotus**

**My freedom, James Norrington, is not a commodity. I resent that you chose to treat it as such. You will not be forgiven... In a battle of wills, James finds he may have bitten off far more than he can chew. James/Eliz/slight Jack**

**A/N: You may recognize bits of this, particularly in the first chapter, from my other fic **_**All's Fair in Love and Piracy**_**. I'm going off the same idea, but taking this fic in a direction that's **_**not **_**a dead end. Hope you enjoy. :)**

**Part I: Breaking Point**

My freedom, James Norrington, is not a commodity.

I resent that you chose to treat it as such.

You will not be forgiven.

I suspect you already know this. You glance at me from across the dinner table, green eyes guarded. But I can tell you're nervous. I've always had that effect on you.

We eat alone, my father trusting you enough to not even require a chaperone. You are Port Royal's finest, after all. Commodore. A trusted friend and upstanding citizen. You would never take advantage of me...but you already have. What would my father think, could he know the way you behaved earlier this week?

After being at sea, taking meals with pirates, I feel strangely out of place in the finely furnished dining room. To be quite honest, my dear Norrington, I feel strangely out of place on land. My feet feel a certain resentment towards the soil; it failed to sway freely with the waves, as the deck of a ship.

At your behest, a lush feast lay out before us, a celebration for two. Though what exactly we celebrated perhaps lay in the eye of the beholder. You, my dear James, certainly thought we dined to commemorate our impending nuptials. And I?

I toasted to your impending undoing.

You seemed miles away, heading our feast at the far end of the table. Even from so far away, I could see you suffered from a bout of uneasy nerves. Perhaps it meant very little on the grand scale of things, but I could not suppress a surge of triumph, curling contentedly warm in my gut. Miss Elizabeth Swann, causing the great Commodore's insides to twitch with her mere presence.

Perhaps I suffered from delusions of grandeur, but one must pass the time with something at these awful things.

We ate in silence, exchanging polite smiles across the void. My thoughts traveled to a man unable to eat so freely, a man who had saved my life. A man destined for the gallows tomorrow at noon. A pair of dark kohl-lined eyes that seemed as though they could bore through me, straight to my soul, danced in my mind. _Peas in a pod, love. _Was it so? Could a lady of Port Royal's high society rub elbows so easily with a pirate?

I could.

I did.

I reveled in the experience, as I craved for the freedom once again.

My adventure on the sea left me scarred, not quite the same, a changed woman. Now I find myself craving many unladylike things. The sea breeze whipping through my hair, the handles of the helm worn smooth from years of loving use under my palms, a boy's costume allowing the free movement of my legs and the weight of a sabre at my hip.

I dream of a deserted island all my own, a bonfire, a bottle of rum, and a pirate captain to share it with. Thinking of that little island lost amidst the clear blue waters unleashed a sensory memory upon me, so strong that my fork fell to my plate with an unrefined clatter. I hated it, that the thought of his calloused hands on my body could evoke such a reaction. Could leave behind such an ache in my bones, such a demanding desire.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth?" you asked me, tone curious, but eyes hooded with a darkness that smacked of suspicion.

"Quite alright," I assured you, society smile plastered in place. "My hand just slipped, is all."

Something lingered in your expression, James, and I knew you did not quite believe my lie. Though always the military man, before you also always acted something of the fool, mastering the mask of good natured oblivion. Only in the past few days did I glimpse a different side of you, punctuated by a certain predatory alertness. Perhaps it was a quality you never displayed when ashore, in times of peace and quiet, the only times I'd ever shared your company before.

Of course it would take a certain viciousness to survive at sea, to command a fleet of ships, leading a flock of men who would pounce at the first sign of weakness. Jack flaunted this attribute unabashedly; but you, dear James, took me a bit more by surprise. It would not be the first time this week.

_We must go after Will, _I'd insisted, not but days ago. _He'll die if we don't. _I'd fought the urge to scream at you, for I could see the thoughts of leaving an innocent boy behind to die at the hands of Barbossa's pirates circling behind your eyes. What did a blacksmith matter? An orphan. Your _rival, _or so you thought.

We'd retreated to the side of the ship for a quiet exchange, not wanting to engage in a loud row in front of the crew. I was finally beginning to understand just how important it was for a ship captain to keep face.

You turned those green eyes to me, calculating, sizing me up in a way. _I will go back for the boy, if I may make it a wedding present to you, Miss Swann. _I'd pressed my lips together, considering your offer amidst the urgency to return for Will running wild in my mind. _How dare you_, I'd thought to myself. It was trading one life for another, in a way. Marrying you wouldn't kill me immediately, James, but I feared it would be a stifling match. Amidst the fear coursing through my veins, I gripped the rail. _Very well._

Two words sealed my fate. You turned your proposal into a bargain, perhaps the most ungentlemanly act I'd ever witnessed you commit. Under the wig and all that military pomp and glory, you proved that day that you too are only a man.

Now I study you across the table, the way you sit with perfect posture, neatly consuming your meal. For as long as I'd known you, you always lived life exactly by the book. You embodied the perfect straight laced military man, nearly a machine in your actions and deportment. I began to wonder if there was anything left of a man who didn't live for rules, who still remembered answering only to himself. Had such a man ever existed, beneath that snow white wig? I found myself wanting to find out.

As this curiosity set in, a knavish plan began to weave into my thoughts. What would you do, Commodore, were your fiancee to unsettle your center of gravity? Push your limits, remind you of freedom?

It could very well be the ticket to my own, I realized, and maybe even Jack's.

_Oh James, _I thought to myself. _I hope I don't break you. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II- A Challenge**

I felt your gaze upon me, Elizabeth, even before I lifted my eyes to meet your honeyed brown stare. We sat in silence for most of the meal, me racking my brains for a subject to discuss, and nervously dismissing all that came to mind. As much as I'd resolved to not mention our adventure just passed, it suddenly seemed my best option.

"It will be a relief to finally hang that filthy pirate tomorrow," I said casually, searching your expression for any sign of remorse. Just the thought of you spending time alone with that rapscallion Jack Sparrow ignited a fire of jealousy deep within me. I reflected back on the urge to slit the man naval to nose, after finding him in his first encounter with you, leaning over your half-naked body on the dock. The urge only grew stronger as time passed.

Darkness overtook your expression; you made no effort to hide it. "There's no pride to be found in hanging a good man, James." Your voice rang sharp through the space between us, cutting me internally.

I furrowed my brow at the attack. "Elizabeth, he's a pirate!"

Raising a delicate hand up from your lap, you ticked the following reasons off on your long fingers, digits stabbing the air. "He saved me from drowning, helped me escape from Barbossa, saved Will from a slit throat...he's a good man at heart. He just doesn't see the world the same way as the rest of us. It's not his nature to conform."

"Because he's a criminal," I muttered under my breath.

"Because it's a crime to be interesting," you muttered under yours, just loud enough for my ears to catch. You raised one of those sculpted eyebrows, looking to me again. "If you listened to your own conscience, instead of the law, I think you would agree with me, James. Laws can be wrong, you know."

"What would you have me do, Elizabeth?" I demanded, frustrated. "Set him free?"

Where I'd expected some form of retreat from her as I raised my voice, you simply met my challenge with a knowing smile. I should have known better than to treat you as though you were made of the same clay as most females. I already knew you to be a creature of exception. It was partly the reason why I wanted you, even if it was also the cause of a constant, niggling anxiety, present in the pit of my stomach. Not for the last time that night, I wondered if I'd dived in over my head after all.

"If our British justice is so civilized, then why not a fair trial, instead of hanging him immediately?"

"A trial, for a known criminal?"

"Did _you _personally catch him committing a crime?" you argued. "I dare say, the first crime you condemned him for was saving me from a watery grave."

I shook my head. "Out of the question, my dear."

Elizabeth, you went quiet, though your eyes burned holes directly through me. _Fine work, James _I told myself. The only dialogue of the night, ending in a bitter argument.

Once quite sure we were both finished with our meals, I made a peace offering. "Would you care to accompany me outside?"

Hesitantly, you nodded. We walked slowly across the wide veranda, enjoying the night air, the subtle fragrance of the flowers constantly in bloom in the tropical heat, and the silver moonlight guiding our way. "Since we are engaged, James, can I ask for an absolutely honest answer?" Your question caught me off guard, perhaps the sincerity therein.

"Of course," I answered, suddenly wary. Something about you kept me _en garde_ tonight, almost as though in some subtle, barely perceptible way, we were fencing with each other. Strangely, deep down, I found the challenge exciting.

"You _promise _to tell the truth?"

"I do."

"Do you love me?" I found myself confused by the question. Why else would I have asked her to marry me? Why else would I have so desperately fought for her agreement to become my wife?

"Most dearly, Elizabeth. How can you ask such a thing?"

"There are some who would find me to be a perfect prize wife. I was just wondering if you were one of them." You answered simply, but the words struck me like thrown stones. Had our fencing match escalated into a battle without me realizing it? Slowly, I was beginning to realize that perhaps I'd misjudged you, from the start. There was no doubt you were a fine lady, and yet there was a fierceness to your spirit I'd never encountered in any other. I wondered if you meant to toy with me, as a cat does a mouse?

"Are you trying to scare me off?" I asked with a small smile, studying you, my opponent. My fiancee.

You shrugged those slender shoulders; the moonlight caressing your skin bewitchingly, and my fingertips itched to do the same. "Just keeping you on your toes," you openly admitted. It was seemingly flippant, but I knew you far better than that.

You looked out across the garden, out to the dark ocean. One could barely make out the breaking of the waves in the quiet of the night. Suddenly, I felt lost at sea, drifting away from you, although you stood at my side. Groping for some way to please you, I found myself saying, "I suppose it would be fair, to grant Sparrow a trial. Although I am reluctant to do so, he could be deported to England for a chance at justice."

You turned to me, and your smile illuminated the night. "Oh James, do you mean it?"

I swallowed reluctantly, but nodded. "Regrettably, yes."

Your slender fingers slipped into mine, squeezing them affectionately. "Now doesn't your conscience feel better, too?" she asked, stepping in closer. Against the cool night air, the line of warmth of your body threatened to burn my skin.

"Was my honor ever in question?" I enquired, mesmerized by your sweet mouth that suddenly seemed to hover so close.

"No, James, I already knew you're a good man," you said softly. Unable to resist any longer, I cupped your cheek lightly, drawing you the last few inches into a gentle kiss. Elation coursed through my system as I felt your petal soft lips on mine, and the pleasant surprise of your tongue exploring just the outside of my bottom lip. It was that slick touch of tongue that undid me; I slid both hands into your hair, deepening the kiss into a soul searing affaire, something I'd wanted to do for quite some time. Your small hands played over my chest, going to my neck, pulling me closer still. It was as one hand moved up, fingers sliding beneath my wig, that I pulled away, immediately moving to set it straight on my head once again.

You regarded me with surprised eyes, and a small smile, nearly a smirk, really. "I apologize, Commodore, I did not mean to ruffle your feathers." Raising one eyebrow, you retreated to a nearby door, into the drawing room. Fascinated, I watched her begin to fix her hair again, undoing the evidence of my exploring hands.

"I just...am not used to being without it," I explained, rather awkwardly. You made me feel vulnerable, sweet Elizabeth, more so than anyone ever had in quite a long time. It was an alien sensation.

"Forgive me then; I was only curious about the man beneath the mask."

"It's not a mask, it's a wig," I protested.

"It is a mask," you insisted. "Because whenever you wear it, you are the very picture of a proper British serviceman; it's easier to slip into their rules, than make your own. It's a mask you've worn for as long as I've known you."

Your words cut deep, once again. At that moment I realized I'd forgotten life before the wig; she was right, it was an easy code of rules to slip into. For the first time, I wondered what I would be like without them. The world seemed to spin for a moment, unsteady under my feet, and I itched as that moment to take off the wig, toss it to the floor, and kiss you again.

_What are you doing to me, Elizabeth Swann? _

I approached you from behind, watching you in the mirror. "I'm not the only one who wears a mask, Elizabeth," I pointed out. "I simply don't know what to make of you tonight." Ducking down, I planted a gentle kiss on your neck. "I feel as though you perhaps know something about me that I don't. And that, my darling, is a frightening thing."

"Why?" you asked, leaning back against me. "Why is it such a crime to not be afraid of ourselves?"

"I don't know," I answered, meeting your intense gaze in the mirror. I studied this woman in my arms, this siren drawing me in with the sweetness of her voice. Was it all an illusion? Appearances can be deceiving, and at that moment I wondered if I'd underestimated you greatly. Oversimplified you. Idealized your beauty on a pedestal. I wanted to pose the same question you asked me: _Do you really love me? _I found I had not the courage to hear the answer.

I faced down pirates and the wild frontier of the high seas without batting an eyelash, but this delicate woman caused the ground beneath my feet to shift, to sway listlessly, throwing me off balance. I was not a man who enjoyed spontaneity; I thrived on executing the well organized plan. But there was a challenge in your eyes tonight, Elizabeth, a challenge to question all that I knew, a certain defiance that captivated me. It was almost as though without a word, your eyes asked, _do you accept? Do you dare? _

I dared.

As I leaned down to take your lips once again, I found myself thinking _What have you gotten yourself into, James Norrington? _


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III- Uncontrollable Beauty**

Well, commodore, I am by far a more honest man than anyone will ever admit. In this spirit I will honestly say, I do not envy where you stand at this moment, one single bit. Even here in the dank dinky jail cell in the Fort of Port Royal, I do not. Because you, brave, stupid, commodore, have your hands full.

Maybe you even know it.

Oh alright, so maybe I lied a little. I do that a lot too, and everyone is always more than happy to hold it against me. I do envy where you stand, because by the dying sound of the orchestra, and the garbled mumblins of that old coot of the cloth, I can tell at this very moment you are standing next to _her_.

Now, I do not envy the circumstances under which you _are _standing there. _That _whole business, that fool's noose, that ring of death. No, none of that is for me. And that is why I even pity you, Commodore Norrington, because I don't really think its for _her _either.

But you didn't give her a choice, and that was your folly. Your mistake. You traded her freedom for Will's life. She's known the boy forever, loves him, even, and she has the faults of virtue and compassion...of course she would do whatever necessary to save the whelp. But you dear commodore? Who will save you?

No one, I'm afraid.

For you, the happy bridegroom, there will be no mercy.

Alright, so I lied about one other thing. Pirate. Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?

I said I don't envy what you'll have your hands full of, but I do. She's a prize specimen, a beautiful woman, a fine pirate....what man wouldn't want his hands to be full of her? I certainly wouldn't hesitate to jump on the chance again...

Oh. Well, that's one more thing I didn't exactly tell the truth about. You came in here with such a god-awful kicked puppy dog look in your eyes, mate, how could I give you the truth?

Twas for your own good, really.

There was also fear, of the woman your fiancee truly is, and not who you need her to be. Did you first begin to sense it then. Do you know now? I doubt it. But you will see.

So, you waltz in here with all your pomp and glory, polished boots and feathered hat, buttons blindingly shiny on that crisp pressed uniform. Demand that the guards leave us by our onesies, and they run for the hills, sensing a storm brewing from their normally so cool commodore.

"What happened between you and Elizabeth on that island?" you demand, voice low, leaning on the bars.

"Not much a one for foreplay, are ye? I feel a bit sorry for your betrothed, then..."

Your nostrils flared, and I read the rage in your eyes. Interesting.

"Tell me the truth, and I may decide not to hang you tomorrow."

Ah, but did you really want the truth? These sorts seldom do. They don't like upstarts, they like yes men. It was a role I'd never cared to fill, as Beckett can well tell you.

I could have told you the plain and simple truth, dear Commodore. Elizabeth Swann is a hot blooded woman, and you have no business trying to tie her down. I could have spouted descriptions of great detail, for the details, my friend, were all still fresh and at the forefront of my mind. You don't forget a night like that, mate, no matter how much rum you drink.

I could have told you about how soft her skin is under callused hands, the supple plumpness of that pouting lower lip between nibbling teeth, and that short, breathy gasp that comes from so deep in her throat when you touch her just the right way...

But I didn't tell you all that, did I? Not a word. Why? Looking out for me own skin, one would wager. One wouldn't be so daft to think so. But that wasn't the reason.

The reason was this: you had no right to it.

I'll tell you why.

Norry darlin', I've been around, savvy? Salty wenches to guvnor's wives, all sorts of female companionship left and right, everyone wants a piece of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. I've had experiences of all colors. Naughty? Of course. Pleasurable, strange, even degrading...but never, not a lone single experience in my whole life with the fairer sex (or the not so fair, as the case maybe. You know how it gets out at sea for a long_ long _voyage...)--not a one do I remember as being beautiful.

And that's just what that night on the island was, my dear Commodore. Absolutely and undoubtedly, uncontrollably. Beautiful.

Whether you like it or not, care to acknowledge it or no, Miss Swann soon to be Mrs. Norrington and I are peas in a pod. Kindred spirits. Similar souls. _Nous nous s'entendre_, savvy? We _hear _each other. Being on that island with her was like being on the moon, and discovering you're not so alone after all. She's young. So very young. But still I know one of me own.

We're a curious pair, Lizzy and I. Explorers, if you will. And that's just what we did. We _explored_ each other, drew maps with our hands and our mouths of the planes and curves....

Aye, it was a beautiful night, and you, Commodore, mundane as you are, have no right to pry into it. I left her maidenhead intact, much to her protest. Its more than I'll ever really owe you, mate.

So like the gentleman Elizabeth believes I am and we both know I'm not, I faced you on the other side of the bars. Looked you in the eye, and told you dead pan that contrary to popular belief, Jack Sparrow does not take advantage of lost little girls. Your eyes darkened at that. What? Was I insinuating that the much respected commodore James Norrington would do such a thing? I smirked, because at that moment I knew what you were thinking. You were wondering what you'd really gotten yourself into. You were questioning how badly had you underestimated Miss Swann.

Swans are vicious creatures, mate. Beautiful, and graceful as dancers, but go near what they hold dear, and they'll come on you with fury. Peck and bite, beat you with their wings and claw your eyes out. No, I don't envy you one bit.

But you must have believed me, because I can hear the nonsense going on outside. The orchestra's begun again, are you walking her back down the aisle? Is her hand on your arm, so delicate and gentle? Its all a farce, my friend, you and I both know you'll never have all of her.

Neither will I. I can make peace with that. Can you?

Something tells me there will be none of that. There so rarely is.

So in return for my good answer, you granted me time. A fair trial. For a pirate? We'll see. I'll escape before you get me in front of a judge and jury anyways. Or so I thought it was my answer, but intuition later told me other wise. The truth came in a calico cloak, face hooded from view. "Leave us," she'd barked, much as the commodore had earlier. And as earlier, the guards, pitiful lads they be, ran for cover, or perhaps to find someone better adept to confront Elizabeth Swann. I wished them good luck, but knew the search would not be fruitful.

"I've secured you a trial," she said hurriedly, sweeping back her hood. The sight of her so suddenly revealed to a man is an unfair thing; it damn near stole my breath away. I nodded, choosing to keep news of your earlier visit to meself. "So you've bought me some time, love. Bought Will time too. What are you going to do about yourself?"

Her face fell momentarily, but I didn't say it to be cruel. I wanted to remind her that she had a duty to herself too. To not be a martyr, like nearly every other woman I knew.

"I'll figure something out," she assured me. Those lips pursed, pensive. I wanted to taste them and taste them and never come up for air. "Marriage is a kind of noose, but not quite so...permanent, shall we say?"

I looked to her eyes, heard her confidence, and I believed her. She was a vicious one, that Swann. She wouldn't put up with unfavorable circumstances for long.

"And besides, Jack. James isn't so bad."

I raised an eyebrow at that one. "If you've got him wrapped around your little finger, I suppose. He dropped in for a visit earlier," I said, curious of her reaction.

"Oh?" She was more interested than she let on. I could tell. "And?"

"He had a hankering to know about our time spent on the island. Could be entirely compromising of a prospective wife, you know, to spend the night on a deserted island with the infamous and devastatingly handsome Captain Jack Sparrow..."

"And what did you tell him?" If she was alarmed, her tone did not betray it.

"Not a bloody thing, luv, its none of his business, if I don't say so meself..."

Elizabeth gives a harsh laugh, and rested her head against the bars. "This is such a farce. I'm pretending to be a lady, you're pretending to be a scoundrel, and James..."

"Is pretending to not be a desperate man?"

She raised those brown eyes to meet mine, so striking, the color of toasted honey. She smiled, and it was a wicked curl of lips. An acknowledgement of everything I'd said and more. For a moment, I felt a twinge of fear of Miss Swann, of what she was capable of. And then, I just felt sorry for you, my dear Commodore. Very _very_ sorry.

She leaned in to the bars, long fingers clasping the cool metal. Had I dared, I would have gone to her, taken that kiss I'd so strongly desired earlier. Why didn't I? Because at that moment, I was slightly afraid of this young lady. Her voice came breathily, floating between us with the intimacy of a whisper but the depth of a promise. "I haven't forgotten you in your prison, Jack Sparrow. I hope you won't forget me in mine."

And with that she left, disappearing with a flutter of dark skirts around the corner, as though she were just a shadow that had never really ever been there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV- Illusion of Innocence**

We walk down the hall quietly, side by side, though we do not touch. It is late, but you are still alert, surveying the walls and windows and paintings. You have been here before, but never before now was it _your _home. For today, you became Mrs. James Norrington.

I fear the only hold I will ever have on you is in name and name alone.

I know you do not love me, as I love you. You do not need me, ache for me, as I do for you. I know you only agreed to this to save your precious blacksmith. Perhaps worse yet, I do not care about your motives. Only that I have you.

I'm not proud of it, but there it is. Still, I hope that maybe some day...

Please, if anything, at least leave me my hope.

We arrive at your room, just down the hall from mine, that I have so painstakingly had prepared for you. Fresh paint, plush pillows, and soft linens, paintings on the wall of ships at sea...you survey your quarters with a critical eye, and I am afraid. _You can re-arrange things however you like_ I quickly amend.

You nod silently, walking into the room. I watch from the doorway, also silent. Mine is rooted in fear of disproval. Is yours rooted in the disproval I fear?

_It's lovely James, thank you_. You turn to face me, and there is a distance between us, not merely physical. I do not know how to cross it. You are still wearing your wedding dress, white silk, glittering in the moonlight embroidered by hundreds of seed pearls. Breathtakingly beautiful. After any normal nuptials I as the bridegroom would have the right to divest you of this finely crafted skin. Untie your laces to reveal the svelte bare skin underneath, that of course I crave to touch.

But this was no normal wedding, was it? And because I am not entirely despicable, I will not touch you until you want me to. By the look in your eyes, I fear it may be a long, long time.

_My room is just down the hall,_ I say, seeing no invitation to stay is offered. Your stare is so...evaluative. Do you know how you unnerve me? I make to retreat there, when your voice stops me dead in my tracks.

_You're not going to stay?_

I fight the urge to swallow, hard. I turn, afraid to see your eyes, expecting to see some mocking light. But no. they are just...questioning. Do you feel as lost as I?

In a normal marriage, I as the bridegroom would have a right to put you in your place. To laugh at your silly idea, and demand that you meet me in MY rooms. But there is no such dynamic here, is there? Even if there could be, I don't think I would want there to be. I cannot imagine ordering the woman I love about, as I do my marines...such a thought could make me the laughing stock of my peers, surely, but it doesn't matter.

So carefully, I answer, _Only if you wish it_.

I watch you, for an invitation, for a sign. Perhaps I did manipulate you into this marriage, but can't you see now that I will do whatever you ask? You are the one who truly holds the reins, my dear Elizabeth, and I think you may know it. As one slender digit rises, crooked in invitation, my mouth goes dry.

I move slowly, deliberately, half expecting you to say _just kidding_ all the while, and send me scrambling with my tail between my legs. I shut the door behind me, leaning on it for a moment of support, before warily crossing the room to you.

Your bewitching lips curl ever so slightly, amused by the commodore's timid manner, no doubt. What kind of a man would willingly forgo his wedding night with a woman such as you, at her mere wish? A woman he took such pains to get here in the first place.

Your first action, as I reach you, is to reach up and remove my wig, tossing it away to a nearby chair. _I hate that thing,_ you admit, and reach up to run your fingers through my hair. The last time you did this I blanched, scrambled to put the wig back on, straight and perfect. You already scrambled my insides, need there be evidence on the outside too? But now, I surrender.

Do you understand, Elizabeth? _I surrender. _

I surrender to your hands. They have moved to my jacket now, unbuttoning the brass buttons, pushing it from my shoulders. It lands in a crumpled heap at our feet, and I do not care.

I surrender to your eyes. They watch me with such a curious intensity and for the first time I wholly believe Jack Sparrow's claim of innocence. Yes, I heard the gossiping old women at our wedding whispering self righteously. So certain that I had been duped. That I was marrying a pirate's harlot. Damaged goods. I never thought that of you, Elizabeth, yet you speak of him with such....fascination. How could I not wonder? But now I am certain, I will be your first.

Finally I regain some sort of consciousness, remember that this isn't a dream, but reality. I have not fabricated these sensations of you touching me in my mind, but they are real. I lean down to take your lips, to truly explore.

That chaste kiss shared at the altar binds, but does not satisfy.

You rise up on tiptoe to meet me, arch your back against me, I can feel your form pressed against mine and this is a new beginning. A beginning of no more secrets between us.

Or perhaps I am lying to myself. Perhaps you are merely acting, perhaps you are curious for curiosity's sake alone. What is this great act, that men kill each other for, start wars over? My hands move to unlace the back of your dress, and I hope you won't be disappointed in me.

It is a consuming fear.

_Be gentle_, you whisper, as I lay you down on your bed. Could I possibly be anything else? Would I ever, with you? My hands touch you with such reverence, such careful worship. You are my queen, my goddess, and by the surprised delight on your face I see you were not expecting me to see to your pleasure first. Perhaps you did not even think it possible, think me capable of extracting such sensations from your body? Had your eavesdroppings on your chamber ladies' accounts to each other, of their fumblings in the hay with various sailors and tradesmen prepared you for disappointment?

Perhaps my dexterity betrayed me; never mind the fact that my hands are trembling as they touch you. With anticipation, nerves, and need. This isn't the first time I've done this, and I know there is a double standard. I would be upset, were the tables turned. Yet, I suspect you would not be, if I told you rather than demonstrated the truth right now. I suspect you would understand, I am after all nearly 10 years your elder.

Finally the time comes, and I slip inside. Your fingernails dig in to my biceps, can you feel the tremors racking my body as I love you? I am holding back my passion, because I know you are in pain. I regret that, I never want to cause you discomfort. I only want you to be happy, Elizabeth.

At least, I want you to be happy with me.

A hairline frown furrows your brows, a small whimper escapes your lips. But as I slow down you whisper _don't stop, _and it takes every ounce of self control not to be undone any further by you than I already am. I want to plunge inside you, but I do not, because I know it will hurt you. The time will come when this will no longer hurt; I can be patient. I have waited this long, after all. It is a chore on my list I will not shirk. Breaking Elizabeth in. Ironic, isn't it?

I have a feeling this is truly the opposite. That I am the one being broken. Being trained. But I can't bring myself to care. Now that I have you, you can do as you like with me. You are my wife now, my darling Elizabeth, but I know it is you who have won.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V- Eye of the Storm**

"You're awfully chipper today, sir," teased Gilette with a knowing smile. "If we'd known getting the pirate out of your wig could be so good for you, we would have set him free months ago."

I paid Gillette a sideward glance. It was not the pirate's escape (inevitable, I know now we should have hung the bastard while we had the chance) or my seemingly incongruous good mood that is amusing them. The source of their mirth is glaringly large and purplish red. _It _is located on my neck, just above where my cravat could have had a suitable chance at hiding it. It, my dear Elizabeth, is entirely of your own handiwork. It is fleshy evidence of the fact that the woman I fought so hard to marry is no timid housewife, no complacent bed warmer or insipid matron de la maison. The true source of my marine's snickers smiles, and genial masculine mirth is a hickey.

But perhaps I spoke too soon, in saying Jack Sparrow was not the cause of my inner joy, expressed outwardly as a mild amusement. Indirectly, and completely unbeknownst to him, the pirate played something of a hand in the matter last night. How could I ever guess that his escape could in turn set us free as well?

Last night had begun with an even quieter than usual dinner. A cavern lay between us, of secrets and suspicions neither of us could give voice to. Needless to say, I was not particularly thrilled by the news of the pirate's escape, the night previous. Worse yet, my dear Elizabeth, I suspected you of aiding him in this feat. You had always had something of a weak spot for the pirate, at times of which seemed virtually innocent. But other times, the way you would speak of him, or the light in your eyes, such a mix of nostalgic admiration and something else I couldn't quite read....jealousy would ignite in my heart, burn my soul. I wonder do you ever speak of me with such admiration in my absence? Do I make you proud, or do I disgust you?

I know you have ambitions with me, I can tell that you want to change me. Help me break free from my military mold. But its been my life for so very long-I fear I can't. I fear I can' t make you happy, not the way I want to. I fear you will never love me the way I love you.

But how could you? The way I maneuvered you into consenting to this union-it was a bold act, and I suspect the surprise of my audacity intrigued you as much as angered you. Did it trigger your curiosity? Did it make you wonder what else I am capable of? I don't know where the courage to do such a thing originated within me, and therefore I know not how to give you more.

You stared at me quietly over your dinner plate, eating a healthy meal. You do not pick at your food as other women do, instead attacking it heartily with every intention of full consumption, as you do everything. And still so thin, nearly too thin, my dear, I worry about you sometimes. Perhaps voluptuous curves are the beauty of the time, but I have always found your willowy form breathtaking, _in _and as a miraculous privilege as of late, _out _of dress.

For all this love, all this adoration I harbor for you, in my breast, in my soul, I am reluctant to admit I do not entirely trust you. You are capable of great mischief, and worse, I know. And that is why I am silent tonight. I fear my wife has aided a known criminal in his escape and I fear she may have even done it out of some sort of love. I know not how to confront you on this, so I excuse myself early, and go to the study.

How long did you watch me, form the doorway, relieving my tensions through the familiar precision of fencing drills? I tried, at any rate, but it didn't exactly work out as I'd hoped. My muscles remained tightly bunched between my shoulder blades, at the back of my neck. I feared I'd been making a mistake all along, and did not fully realize until now.

"We're a bit overdue for a lesson, wouldn't you say?" you ask, coyly, picking up a foil from the table. I watch you warily, and by the way you swing the blade, testing the balance, artful yet in control, one would think you were not in need of lessons, but merely practice. You do not heed the silent request I make with my eyes, to just let me be.

You have your own agenda.

Denied the solitary time I desire, I am faced with something else I long for, but still seem I cannot have. You wore only your nightgown, feet bare on the floor, the wide neck very nearly slipping off one shoulder. Do you taunt me with this on purpose? It makes me want to do the most ungentlemanly things to you. Perhaps that is what you hope for.

You come to face me, tapping my blade playfully, unwilling to take no for an answer. So resignedly I play along. We stand en garde, then advance, and I must pay more than fleeting attentions to your attack. You are getting better and better. "You seem vexed, my dear."

Are you toying with me? Trying to distract me? Of course I'm bloody vexed! Still I am not harsh with you, merely deadpanning, "How perceptive of you, my dear."

The corners of that bewitching mouth curl up into a smile. You are not oblivious to my sarcasm, as some women would be, but you seem to take delight in it. So you continue, "And I cannot help but think it must have something to do with Jack's escape into the blue."

"Oh, it _could_."

"But perhaps it is more of a blessing than you realize." I am caught off guard by your outlandish remark, and only twisting away quickly prevents you from scoring a touch upon my torso.

Are you truly so brazen, as to admit _it_? Of course you are.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A blessing," you repeat. "A stroke of good fortune. That you will not, directly or indirectly, have the blood of a good man staining your hands."

My indignation spurs my blade, and next it is you who must twist away to avoid a point. I see a momentary fear written in your expression, but it is quickly replaced by determination. I am the better swordsman, but you will not relinquish the upper hand so easily.

And you do have it, as you well know.

"Well then, can I act surprised, when I have always known where your true sympathies lie?" Your purse your lips at my acidic remark, and for a few moments the air is filled only with the silver ringing of capped foils, while your alarmingly quick mind chews upon what I said.

"Ah, I see. So by your silence, and ire, I can assume now that it is _me _you suspect of aiding the pirate's flight?"

It is my turn to be silent. What lies inside the Pandora's box, of admitting such a thing? But it seems there is no going back now. "There is no other woman on this island who I would esteem the capability," I carefully admit.

There is a flash of triumph in your eyes, your ego purring in agreement. Oh, you are a proud thing, Mrs. Norrington. Once again you barely manage to dodge a point upon you. "But you cannot base the accusation on mere conjecture," you quip. At least one of us is enjoying this. "You must question me, as you would a true suspect, thoroughly. Start with something innocent and misleading, so that you can later pounce on me, if I am indeed guilty. Ask something like, _Did you see the pirate captain Jack Sparrow last night? _And if I was in an honest frame of mind tonight, of which you're in luck because I very much am, _I _would answer, _Why yes, I did see him."_

You paused a moment to savor my utter shock at your candor, licking your lips as though it tasted delicious. My sword faltered, and you very nearly took advantage of my freeze. Once again, I twisted away. "Come now, James, its your turn," you very nearly taunt. "Ask me another question."

The playful gleam in your eyes is maddening. This is all a big game to you, isn't it? You play with Jack, you play with me- god help us all. Finally I croak out, "When?"

"Last night."

The jealousy, never quelled but only simmering below the surface, comes to full flame once again. "Where?" I demand

"In my room," you answer nonchalantly, as though it were the most natural event. Perhaps for you it was. "Had you chosen to visit me, you might have caught the pirate again yourself."

Your stab does not go unnoticed. Could you be alluding to the fact that in spite of my instigation of this whole mess we call a marriage, it has been you and only you in the past months who has had the courage to visit me, and not the other way around? But I still sense you are not mine, Elizabeth, not entirely, and I fear you never will be. I am reluctant to take what you are not fully willing to give.

I fear our lovemaking is only one sided, that you merely humor me. I know we must be past the time when my touch brings your loins such physical pain, but you still lie so complacent below me. Even your most personal pleasures are taken quietly, with barely a sigh. You aren't exactly cold, yet you too would be reluctant, were you I.

I want you to dig nails into my back, moan and sigh and call my name in ecstasy. I want you to know how it feels to be as undone as I long to be. Perhaps I'm just a coward then. I restrain myself because I am afraid.

Of you.

"And why didn't you alert me?" I demanded, pushing my musings on our carnal pleasures aside.

You inclined your head to one side, almost as a teacher would assess a pupil, determining of I could even begin to grasp the concept you were about the drop on me, or if it would just be a total waste of energy. I suppose you decided it wouldn't be, because you answered, "Jack saved my life once, we share something of a bond because of it. I couldn't betray him to you, and I won't apologize for doing what I know is right. And besides, it would have been particular bad form to blow the whistle on him, when he risked his neck to save me, once again."

An indescribable darkness washed over me, a feeling of which I'd only experienced something akin to it once. On a Navy vessel as a boy we were caught in the worst gale I've ever experienced. I was certain, so certain, the storm and the sea would swallow us all.

You are my storm, Elizabeth. Beautiful and terrible.

Terrified, I asked, "Saving you from what/"

You did not miss a beat, went on as though my expression did not tell you my heart lay still beating on your hands, my chest raw and bleeding where you'd ripped it out only moments ago. "In Jack's boots, I think one would say he thought he was saving a kindred spirit from a loveless marriage of convenience. He offered to take me away with him."

There. There it was. Throw down the beating mass of muscle, squash it under your bare feet.

I could not stand it any longer. The storm howled through my mind, coursed through my veins, moving in a way that I hardly knew what I was doing, I flipped your blade from your hand, sending it skittering across the floor. My hand found your delicate wrist, used it to wrench you to me. The thunder of my heartbeat roared in my chest, in my temples. Not even inches separate us now, and we are in the eye of our storm. "And what did you say to such an enticing offer?" I ask, barely able to raise my voice above a whisper. The high adventure of the sea, I know she couldn't resist it. I feel so certain I know what she must have answered She is waiting for him to come back for her.

You search my face, brown eyes gone so wide. A little fear, and a lot of something else. It is almost...wonder. Your voice too is quiet, controlled. In the eye of the storm, all fury dies to a deadly calm.

You lift your other hand, an it hovers above my cheek, but you do not touch me, as though my skin might burn you. "I decided to stay," you said slowly. "_This _is_ my _choice_._ Do you understand?"

The deceptive calm crashed into the other side of the hurricane. Deafening, it roared through my ears.

_This is my choice_.

Me.

She meant me. I was her choice. _Her _choice. I was vaguely aware of my sword falling from my hand, clattering to the floor, as I moved to crush her to me, hands at her waist and tangled in her hair. My lips crashed against hers, and she surged up to meet me, riding the swell.

"Love me," I pleaded, buried deep inside you, and encircled by your legs. Your breath came in short gasps, torn deep from your throat. I feel your fingernails score my back, my arms, your teeth in my shoulder even.

"I love you." It comes as a breathy sigh, as my body melds into yours, and god help me, I believe you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part VI- The Price of Bliss**

James Norrington, you ruin my plans.

Everything seemed easier somehow, when I still knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted freedom, from you, from the fetters of marriage, to do exactly as I pleased.

Never could I have guessed that I would find freedom in your arms. That our marriage would not be a penal sentence but a desired union, and to do exactly as I pleased would mean living as your wife at your side.

In all the time I've known you, James Norrington, and all the time spent dreading our union, I never would have guessed that things could go this way. I accepted your proposal to save Will. You know that very well. And then I was certain I would simply bide my time, wait for something more interesting to show itself. In all the years I've known you, dear commodore, I never would have guessed that more interesting thing would be you.

Do you hear them whispering behind your back? The commodore has taken to going about in public with a bare head! And some times he can be even be seen not even wearing his uniform! Small victories, certainly, but as deeply ingrained as naval code is, how deeply she has sunk her teeth into you. I know this is no small feat.

But still, I was curious. I craved more, more and more, as is inherent in my nature. The walls had begun to come down between us, the stoic stiff-upper lipped officer giving way to the emotions of a true human being. I'm fairly certain the change terrified you, yet you plowed ahead anyways. What more could I want, then?

I wanted everything.

Life took a turn for the amazing, after our epic battle, after Sparrow flew the coup. Something broke in you, and healed anew. Was it the simple assurance that you are no longer a second choice, that gave you the courage to truly open up to me?

Oh, but it could not last. It seems that such perfect things never do. A bullet flew into the scene, popping our perfect little bubble, shattering its crystalline wonders all to pieces.

The name of that bullet was Lord Cutler Beckett.

His greed and lust for power consumed and consumed; it did not care who was trod underfoot to get it.

Perhaps you already knew this was Beckett's nature, James. Perhaps you had heard stories of him in your naval circles I had not. Perhaps that was why, my dear husband, when Beckett came to port royal to oversee this war on piracy personally, you were afraid of him.

So was I. I believe we were ever fearful for the same or similar reasons. A man like Beckett gives no quarter for silly personal notions of individual freedom. It was something you too had come to value, and I loved your for it. So when Beckett decided to send you haring off on a wild goose chase to find Jack Sparrow and bring him to justice, a whole two months after the pirate escaped, I was afraid.

The library seemed to double as our battleground. But that night, our fencing was strictly verbal. "Please don't leave me alone," I pleaded. You were trying to review charts and maps, as though they could possibly tell you where to start looking for Jack Sparrow. We both knew they wouldn't.

"I can't stay," you groan, massaging your temples. "And you very well know it."

"I'm not asking you to stay. I'm asking you to take me with you." You blanched at this. A woman on a navy ship. What an unthinkable breach of discipline. Before Beckett arrived, I think you may have considered my request. But no, not now.

"What exactly are you so afraid of?" you ask, nearly derisively, but I know you already know the answer. Most of it, at any rate. Did you see it too, at his welcoming ball, the hungry way Beckett looked at me? It was not exactly lecherous, but unnerving all the while. Did you sense that greedy hunger, when the Lord asked you for my hand in a dance? I think you were as reluctant to let me go, as I was myself reluctant to go.

"I don't trust Beckett," I candidly admitted. "I have an awful feeling, in the pit of my stomach. Something horrible will happen, if you leave me here."

You look away, you know you are betraying me. But you feel helpless in the matter, and I think you hate it as much as I. Ever since his arrival, you slowly began to slip into your old habits, old disciplines, as though a watchful father had just returned home, as was now keeping a strict eye on his wayward son. It began at the ball. After a nerve-racking dance with that snake, I wanted nothing more to do with the frivolous social niceties of the evening.

"Let's leave," I suggested quietly, mischievously. We had done that very same thing, at Mary Robinson's inane birthday celebration. Slipped off unnoticed, and went down to the beach to watch the stars and feel the waves at night. You made love to me that night, in our own private little cove. Where was that brave and mischievous James then? I feared the arrival of new authority scared him into hiding again, because you refused, most sternly.

The way you are now.

"You do realize that Beckett is merely sending you on a fool's errand, do you not? We both know you wont' find Jack, the trail is two months cold."

"It seems as such," you admit resignedly.

"And yet you will still go."

Frustrated, you slam down your pen, and stalk to the window for a different view. You cannot look at me. "I fear I have no choice," you say quietly. You know this is not what I want to hear.

"We always have a choice."

You whirl on me, green eyes alight. With anger, but also therein I see fear. "Beckett can take away everything we have, do you understand?"

I regarded you carefully. The sadness welled up in my heart, spilled over and spread through my bones. "If you leave, I fear he will have already," I admit quietly.

You clasp my shoulders, deceptively gentle. I can feel the tension singing down your arms. "This isn't a game anymore, Elizabeth. I stayed here rather than chase Sparrow to be with you. I neglected my duty, and now we both must pay for it. Lord Beckett can send me anywhere he sees fit, that is the nature of things."

It isn't nature, I think. These ridiculous trials man puts himself through but accredits to nature are nothing but a lie. You look so tired, James, and I am sad. Was I really a fool to think you could possibly let go of the military obedience that molded you? Perhaps I was. Still, I cannot contain my contempt for Beckett, and all his kind, who use people as pawns on a chessboard.

Do you see the way he appraises everything, as though he already owns it? He does this on the streets of Port Royal, at the Fort, even when you force me to entertain him for dinner. Do you even notice the way he looks at me, as though I am not a married woman, but some prize...yes, I fear him. So do you.

"I know his type, James, as do you. Cutler Beckett is a lying, greedy snake who--"

"I'm so glad you have such a high opinion of me," came a dry voice from the doorway, of which just recently we'd both come to know all too well. My blood ran cold at the sound of his crisply clipped words.

Beckett stood in the doorway, and somehow that little man's presence seemed to fill the entire cavernous room with a cold sense of foreboding.

"Now, let me tell you of what I want from Jack Sparrow, it is not such a goose chase as you might think. He has a special compass..."

I watched your face as you listened to that foul man, my dear James. At that moment I mourned for you, and I mourned for us. For everything we'd built, for everything we'd become. Though I knew not how, or even why, I knew in my heart nothing would ever be the same again.


	7. Chapter 7

****

Part VII- Betrayal and Redemption

The world had spun round more than once for us, Elizabeth, since our last meeting. Last I saw you, you stood at the docks, tearful and resigned, waving me away on this fool's errand. You and I knew it, yet I felt powerless to change our destinies. And now you stand before me, chin jutting out defiantly, dressed in the trappings of a warrior of the far east, surrounded by a cutthroat crew of oriental pirates.

_Your_ crew.

You seem a changed woman, and yet, my dear, you seem completely in your element.

Do I? I should think not. I am constantly on edge, walking on glass in bare feet, amongst the fierce fishmen of Davy Jones' crew. They could rebel against us, kill us puny humans all so easily, it seems to me. Yet the fear for keeping that damnable heart in tact holds them back, is all that keeps us from disaster. I float about, it seems, a broken man, who has nothing left to lose.

Or so I thought. You are here again though, so is it true? By the steely look you pay me, I sense we are lost. We can never be the same again. Both of us feel betrayed by one another. I have been back to Port Royal only once in the past year. You were not there. Our house lay empty of servants and mistress, no one waited to greet me from my arduous voyage at sea.

I brought Beckett one better than the compass. I brought him that repulsive mass of twitching muscle: the heart of Davy Jones. I hoped that such a pay off could buy us freedom, that perhaps we could be left to ourselves, go back to the bliss we'd lived in before.

You were not the only one I'd hoped to be greeted by. You were not sure, but sure enough at the time of my departure to be afraid. When I returned I expected to be greeted by my loving wife ripe with child. Instead, there was merely a coldly delivered blow from Beckett. "Your wife has disappeared, supposedly with some blacksmith from the town."

After news like that, what more did I have to live for? I have floated along, half alive and executing Beckett's bidding out of habit.

And now here we are. "Take the crew to the brig," I order of the sea creatures that resemble something of men. "Mrs. Norrington will join me in my cabin." There are some looks of confusion at names, but no truly great interest.

I look to your eyes. Does the name still mean something to you? Your eyes are guarded, and I cannot tell.

In my cabin, we stand across from each other, feet apart but miles away. The first thing you say, it comes out cold, hard edged. Blunt. "So what lies did Beckett feed you?"

I study you closely. This defensive posture, this bristling armor, is intimidating. But underneath it all, I can see you are tired.

"I was told you took off with a blacksmith we know, not long after I left. His absence from the smithy seemed to confirm the tale."

Your expression is stony, nearly unreadable. "I imagine he did." You sink down into a chair, elbows on knees, hands holding your head.

"And I suppose you have a different story?" I ask, carefully. I have not lost my cool façade yet, but my knees are trembling.

"I will give you the whole truth as I see it. That is, if you think you can stomach it."

There is a challenge in your voice. I suspect the truth is far uglier, far more complicated, than you running away with Will.

Tell me everything, Elizabeth.

Tell me how I failed you.

"Tell me," I say quietly, taking a seat as well.

You take a shuddering breath, stare at the toes of your boots. "A week after you had left, Beckett insisted I join him for dinner. I tried to make excuses for every invitation, but he kept insisting, and it got to a point where I could no longer refuse. He said something along the lines of you might not make it home, that it would be wise for a woman to have powerful allies in changing times. He tried..." she shuddered with disgust. "It doesn't matter, I fought him off, left him bleeding and fled home. I was terrified. Running away never seems easy, but with a baby on the way...but I made plans to go anyway. I knew if I could make it to Tortuga I could disappear for a while, hopefully find Jack's trail, and subsequently, _you._" You paused in your narrative to look to me. The weight in your eyes was crushing. My knees trembled, I leaned against the table for support.

"Anticipating my plans, Beckett fabricated a false charge to hold me by, assisting a pirate in escaping His Majesty's royal noose. He sent that fiend Mercer and some others to detain me. There was a fight, and I fell...when I woke up again, I was in one of the dank cells of the fort, bleeding. From the inside. I bled and bled and bled, and I knew if I survived the baby had not. It was as though any hope I'd had for something of a happy domestic life bled away that night. Slipped out from inside me and congealed into a cold, sticky puddle on the floor. A part of myself died that night, that I will never get back."

I felt sick. Nauseous. The room spun, and I was forced to take a chair. Mercilessly, you continued.

"Not long after that Will sprung me from jail--he built the cells, half pin barrel hinges, just picked up a bench from the corridor and _paf_, I was free...it was beautiful..." A ghost of a smile appeared on your face. So there were good memories too, in this grand adventure, this grand mucking of the works. It wasn't supposed to be this way at all, was it?

"So we went to find Jack, fled Port Royal on a fishing rig that could barely float-and we found him eventually, only god knows how....and the adventure marched on. I've nearly died more times than I can count. And I've killed...I've lost count of that too. Although a few in particular stand out in my memory...Jack himself, first and foremost. But we brought him back. He is a pirate Lord of the Breathren, we need him for a vote at shipwreck cove-and I am a Lord now too. Sao Feng gave me his necklace before he died, and thus I inherited his title, his ship, his crew..."

You babbled wildly, but I began to understand. You have been to hell and back, perhaps quite literally. Is this the adventure you'd always craved? I suspect could you have chosen it, or chose to pass it by, you would have picked the latter.

But perhaps not.

You sit quietly now, finished talking. Your eyes turn up to mine, and your pain is so raw, I cannot hold your gaze. "So what is your side of this tragedy? It can't be solely a monologue."

I do not answer immediately. I feel like far too much of an idiot.

"I returned to Port Royal, found you and Turner had gone, and assumed what everyone else did. I'd brought Beckett the heart, hoping to buy our freedom-"

"You?! It was you who put the power of the sea into such a wicked man's hands? Fool." You stand from your seat, unable to contain your contempt. Like a caged animal, you pace my cabin.

"I did it for us," I defend, though not with zeal. "I did it for you."

You whirl on me, eyes full of fire and fury, and for a moment I fear you. "I did not ask for it!" you snarl. "All I asked was for you to not leave me at the mercy of that sociopath, but you couldn't. Couldn't stow me away, couldn't break the rules any more than you already had..."

"Stow my pregnant wife away in the hold of the dauntless?! Yes, that was a brilliant idea--"

"You chose your duty over me, and you left me no choice but to chose my freedom over you." You say it coldly. Matter of factly. Remorseless now. You'd given me my chance, and foolishly I'd thrown it all away, without even realizing what I'd done. I reach up to touch your face, but as my fingers hover above the sharp line of your cheekbone, I find I can trespass no farther.

Your eyes spear me through, honeyed brown ablaze with the fury at my betrayal. There were no tears of remorse. I suspected you'd already cried your share, leaving a hollow hardness in your gaze that would give no more of yourself to weakness.

How could I blame you? From our very first meeting, our voyage across the Atlantic from England to the Caribbean, I'd always fancied myself your protector. Now put to the true test, I proved to be nothing but a failure. And you, the indomitable Elizabeth Swann, proved again and again to be more than capable of rising to the occasion on your own power. You proved your mettle, a dozen times over.

Perhaps it was time I did the same.

As I stood toe to toe with you, the woman I loved more than myself and failed more than anyone else, I knew there to be one last chance for redemption. "Come with me," I instructed, pulling you towards the door. Though puzzled, you followed me, past fish men lazing to the stern of the Dutchman. We descend into the hold, and it's as I unlock the cell door, releasing your men from their dripping prison, that we share a moment of understanding.

Like wraiths in the night, we sneak out, sliding along in a line upon the shallow shelf at the side of the ship, until we are at the very stern. Your crew acrobats across the line with ease, hasting towards the freedom of their own vessel. One by one they crawl away, until only you and I remain.

"Go," I say, gesturing towards the line.

You hoist a foot up onto the railing, before looking back. There, in your eyes, I see an unexpected tenderness surfacing. It is a ghost of the pleasures we'd once shared, and it breaks my heart all over again to see you can still muster some compassion for me, after all I have done to you. "Come with me."

"I can't. They'll know. They'll catch us both. At least this way you have a chance."

You grab me by the lapel of my jacket, jerking me down with a grip of iron undoubtedly earned on your most recent adventures. You capture my lips in a searing and unexpected kiss, causing me to momentarily lose my senses. I grasp your hair in great handfuls of golden silk, wondering if I will ever be so lucky again as to know your touch, before pulling you away. "Don't sacrifice yourself for me anymore than you already have, James. Please, come with me."

"Go, damn you," I order, the harsh edge of my words unsuited for the mist that clouds my vision.

"Don't be a martyr," you hiss, seeing right through me, as you always do. At that moment, one of Jones' crew takes notice of our exchange, hobbling our way on limbs better suited for water than land. "What's going on over there?" it growls, and I push you to mount the rope. You go without further argument, pausing in hope that I would follow. There is a look of sorrow in your eyes, as though you watch me sign off my own death. "Oi, you! No one leaves the ship."

"Stand down," I bark, drawing my pistol and sword, sounding brave as fear freezes the blood in my veins.

"No one leaves the ship!"

"I order you--" I see the pike coming, time slows, as I aim at the line and fire. Somehow, my bullet sings true through my haste and shaking hands.

"Forgive me!"

With a scream of "James!" you fall into the dark waters below, hopefully still attached to the thick tow line as you land. It is your best chance for survival, I hope you understand. As I sink to the deck, a primitive weapon forged of a stingray's barb protruding from my torso, I look through the railing to the dark waters. Life never turns out the way you bargain for.

And then the very devil himself manifests before me, somehow the human gesture of a smug smile curling that octopine mouth, tentacles quivering with self satisfaction. "James Norrington, do you fear death?"

In a final gesture of defiance, I strike out, skewering the fish man upon the blade of my sword, but I know to no avail. I am sinking, further down, onto the deck, and into my own soul. Darkness edges my vision, slowly closing in.

I do not fear death. Death is merely an end. It is life that has always terrified me.

But you have shown me, Elizabeth Swann, the impossible sweetness that can be squeezed from our mortal years. I regret forgetting your lessons, even if only for a little while. I hope someday you can forgive my fatal folly.

Just barely, I make you out, a small bobbing fleck in the murk below. _Forgive me_, I sigh, as the lines between reality and a blinding glow fade and assimilate, leaving me with only thoughts of what might have been. I see you in flashes of color. I see you as a blur of light, running on the sand barefoot. I bathe in your essence as you surround me with the golden rays of your hair and your body, feeling you all around me as we make love. I see you on the Navy docks in a new flowered frock, the Caribbean sun shining off the tresses atop your head, aqua blue waters shimmering all around. Your mouth splits in a smile, warm and inviting, and you clasp the bundle of a newborn babe in your arms.

_Welcome home, James. _As the world fades, I cannot remember a time when you have not been my home. You never asked for this, but you are my salvation. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, I know as I slide from this life into the unknown, that you, Elizabeth Swann, are my soul's redemption.

**A/N: an epilogue coming, and then sadly the true end. Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, you're the best!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Epilogue**

You've never quite been the same, Lizzy, since the passing of the Commodore. There's some glint left from your eyes, some glitter gone. Was it the passing of youth, the departure of innocence, lost in the fray with Davy Jones?

Not quite right. You still possess the former, captivatingly so, I might add, and the latter, we both know you never had much use for.

I knew that from the beginning, luv.

Peas in a pod.

'Course, _once_ I felt certain I knew a great _many _things about you, only to be surprised time and again. Recall that sultry night in Port Royal, when I dropped in on you, freshly sprung from your new husband's jail? I couldn't quite bring myself to escape, not without posing you the offer of a life time.

_Come with me_ I'd said.

Nothing appealed to me more that night, than squirreling away with the Commodore's young bride. I offered you freedom, the freedom I thought you'd requested of me. Imagine my surprise, when you picked James instead.

From anyone else, I could have understood. Nothing said stability, status, power, prudence, like James Norrington. Right appealing, to a normal lass.

But you were _never_ a normal lass, were you, luv?

Rejected and dejected, I flashed a good humored smile at you, tipped my hat, and disappeared into the moonlit night. It rankled me a bit, darlin'. More than a bit. Nipped at me ego. I knew the cloth you were cut from; a _much_ more similar weave to me own, than the Commodore's. I couldn't understand what could possibly have incited you to stay, in a place you'd once described to me, one rum-soaked night illuminated by firelight, as a gilded prison.

I knew it couldn't possibly be fear.

I rather doubted it to be love as well.

And so I laughed and left you to your new husband, with an inkling we would meet again someday, probably sooner than later. I had no idea the circumstances would bode so dire. Leave such a dark stain on all our memories, all our consciences.

I wonder what I would have done, that day I pulled you from a potential watery grave, could I have known how our destinies would intertwine? Could I have known you would kill me with a kiss someday, would I have tossed you back to the fishes?

Perhaps not. Perhaps there are some things worth dying for. Your kisses just might be one of them.

Only recently, have I truly come to understand your choice that night. You have told me now, some of your life with James Norrington, in a tone that indicates you know life will never be so sweet, so simple, ever again. It won't, luv, believe me. Time only entangles, only complicates, even if only just the wires in our own heads. It's enough, believe me. Well enough.

Let me tell you the bit I understand. _The challenge._ I comprehend that well enough, for it's something of the same thing I wanted to do with you. I wanted to show you what life can really offer, and not just what young lasses are taught behind closed doors, to perpetuate society's securely clamped fetters.

But what fool could ever mistake you for a mere strumpet? A glittery prize? A breeding mare?

James did, at first.

Sounds like you set him right, luv. More than right. But the game turned on you too. The most unexpected thing. You never counted on actually falling in love.

We never do.

By helping Will stab the thump thump of Davy Jones, I seemed to selflessly let go of my dreams of immortality, and sailing the sea forever. But Lizzy luv, I'm sure you know by now the conniving in my black pirate heart.

I'm sure you know by now, it was an orchestrated ploy. A perfect plot. It was the only way I could stay with _you_.

And now by some strange turn of fate, you _are _here, with me, sailing on my ship. I look back to watch you at the helm. One of my greatest loves, steering another, through a third. Do not ask me to place ranks, darling, be flattered enough you're included in the trio with the Pearl and the sea.

No longer a girl, but a Pirate King, you seem at home here on the Pearl. You pull your weight with everyone else, your hands roughened from scrubbing, tying knots, towing lines, manning the helm. No one disputes your place here, and no one but I dares touch you. Someone we picked up out of Panama thought he would try, and you quickly showed him his place with the business end of your sword.

You are even mine in some way, when the sun sinks below that horizon we chase with no end. For whatever reason, maybe not quite love, but not solely lust, you allow me to kiss those fine lips, to caress that svelte curved body beneath the skivvies of a man. But when we are finished, lying in the quiet, I know you cry beside me, once you think I have fallen to slumber. You do not reach to me for comfort, and I've been around long enough to know it means a woman is crying for another man.

Sometimes I hate it, luv, that I _wish_ you would reach for me.

But I know I will never have you _quite_ the way I want you. Never all my own. Forgive me, luv, it's always been me nature to want more than what's good for me. But I am a pirate, and that means I take what I can. I take what you offer, and know better than to push for any more than that. Matter of speaking, out of all the men in your life who ever wanted something of you, the Commodore, Will, Sao Feng, even your father, I am the last one standing.

I'd like to keep it that way.

Savvy?

**Fin**

**A/N: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, it's been an interesting ride! **


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